Shattered
by thevanitymonster
Summary: Three years, and he was still a sorry excuse for a Knight. —Dave-centric


**Title:** Shattered  
**Summary:** Three goddamn years, and he was still a sorry excuse for a Knight. —Dave-centric  
**Notes:** Strilondes give me a serious case of the sads.  
**Disclaimer:** Homestuck and all related characters are property of Andrew Hussie.

_Prompt #3: Loss_

* * *

The stench of blood permeated the air, causing Dave's stomach to lurch unpleasantly. His footsteps fell lightly on the stone ground, but each step he took felt heavy with dread and reluctance. Every fiber of his being told him not to take another step forward. His mind screamed to fuck curiosity in its stupid, morbid asshole and turn the fuck around and not take a single peek at what was no doubt waiting for him at the top of the cliff.

Yet he continued marching forward like a knight to war (he silently berated himself for that shitty metaphor), his body having long since gone on autopilot. It appeared he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Then again, he hadn't had a choice in a lot of things since the start of this game.

Dave knew what he would find before he even reached the top. It was almost as though he had received a prophetic image in his mind containing every bloody detail, but he knew that was impossible. Rose and Terezi were the Seer players, not him.

He lowered his obscured gaze to Bro's body, lying eerily still on the cold, hard ground. Blood was everywhere. It stained Bro's clothes and the rocky terrain beneath him, and Dave had the strangest feeling that he had seen this before.

His eyes flicked over the sword protruding from his brother-slash-adoptive-biological-father's abdomen. Impaled with his own sword, Dave thought bitterly. A fucking disgraceful end to an otherwise heroic fight. If Bro could see this, his legendary poker face would no doubt cringe in shame.

Dave, on the other hand, cringed for very different reasons.

He took a tentative step back, preparing to launch a well-aimed kick to the sword's hilt. Pulling it out would only draw more blood; he wanted to make this as clean as possible.

Blond eyebrows furrowed in perplexity at the repeated sensation of déjà vu. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was positive he had said almost the exact same thing to someone a long time ago. That meant that this was—

This was—

Realization hit him just as his glasses flashed with an incoming message from Terezi. He supposed that it made sense in retrospect; he hadn't bothered to memorize Terezi's player class until after they had boarded the meteor, so the fact that he had known should've tipped him off.

As his god tier pajamas materialized, replacing the simple shirt and jeans combo he'd worn to death in another lifetime, scarlet eyes once again zeroed in on the katana. He had been too cowardly to pull it out nearly three years ago. He'd be damned if he allowed Bro to lie like that in a dream projection as well.

With trembling fingers, Dave disregarded his incoming messages and reached out to grip the hilt.

And just like that, it snapped.

Shards of steel fell to the ground, and with them, Dave's composure. Teeth grit, he gripped the broken hilt so tightly that he was sure he would wake up with scrapes and blisters and very sore hands.

Three years. Three goddamn years, and he was still a sorry excuse for a Knight.

He wanted to throw the hilt down and scream, because that shouldn't have been Bro lying there without his shades and with a broken katana protruding from his long-dead corpse. It shouldn't have been Bro who fought Jack or Bro who was impaled or Bro who was currently lying there in a pool of his own blood, and Dave wanted to verbally curse out every iteration of the universe for allowing it to happen.

He wouldn't, though. Not in front of Bro. Striders didn't lose their shit like that.

Dave's grip on the sword loosened, and he numbly allowed it to fall to the ground with a clatter. Exactly thirteen seconds and thirty-two milliseconds later (he was a shitty Knight, but at least he was good with time), a slender hand gripped his shoulder from behind him. He didn't have to look back to know whom it belonged to. The scent of alcohol and dark, musky perfume was unmistakable.

"Is dat...?" began Rose, but she trailed off mid-sentence.

"Yeah," replied Dave, the mask of stoicism back in place. He had let dropped the facade with her before, but he wouldn't this time. Not when she was like this.

She squeezed his shoulder and moved forward so that she was standing next to him. "I'm shorry, Dabe."

Her words slurred again, and Dave's chest ached for reasons no longer exclusive to the cadaver lying less than two feet away from him.

"It's Dave, you drunkass," he corrected her. "And eh, it was three years ago. Doesn't bother me now."

Rose took an unbalanced step forward. Dave caught her by the elbow before she could pitch face-first into blood-stained rock, but she hardly seemed to notice. Her glassy, curious gaze was trained on the man she knew to be her ecto-biological dad, but who she had never met in her life. Her eyes were sad, so sad, and it was then that Dave remembered that he wasn't the only one to have lost a father.

Suddenly, Rose reached into her oversized hood and procured what appeared to be a bottle of Orange Faygo, which she had probably stolen from the juggalo troll. She bent down and placed it beside Bro's hand almost as if she _knew_, and Dave swallowed against the lump that had begun to form in his throat.

Getting emotional over the sight of shitty soda. He had really reached a new low, hadn't he?

"I wanted to meet 'im," said Rose softly.

"He would've liked you," said Dave. He jammed his hands into his pockets. "You're just as fucked up in the head as he was."

"So're you," she pointed out.

Dave couldn't argue with her there.

Rose was silent for a moment before speaking up again. "Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm shorry."

Dave closed his eyes and tried not to think about dead brother-dads or alcoholic ecto-sisters or any other aspect of his fucked up family.

"Me too, Rose," he said numbly. "Me too."


End file.
